


lake effect teacher

by headsinheaven



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Cute Kids, Elementary School, Established Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz, Fluff, M/M, everyone loves patrick, for reasons you'll figure out if you research, just a smidge of angst, lots of adorable kids, this is mostly dumb shenanigans, this takes place late-ish 2013/early 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-13 20:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headsinheaven/pseuds/headsinheaven
Summary: Patrick's a music teacher at the local elementary school. Pete's his caring boyfriend who all the kids think is super cool. The kids absolutely love Patrick, almost as much as Pete does.





	lake effect teacher

**Author's Note:**

> uhh yeah? this literally came about from a single sentence of an idea about two weeks ago, and since then i've been adding to it nonstop. lots of shenanigans with a sprinkling o' angst. i did not expect the ending at all.

“Good morning, Mr. Wentz. How are you today?”

“Hey Susan,” Pete greeted as he entered the office. He signed his name on the clipboard set out at the front desk and peeled one of the ‘Pleasant Ridge Elementary School Visitor’ stickers off of the sheet next to it, replying “I’m good, thanks for asking. Just here to drop off Patrick’s lunch. Got him something from this really good Chinese place a couple blocks over. It’s his favorite.”

“Sounds delicious!” she said. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Be warned, though: I’m almost certain the kids are practicing their recorders today.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” he said, waving to her before he left. Susan was always super nice to him. 

He took a right from the office and made his way towards the art hallway, stopping only to check out the honor roll board and observe some student paintings that were pinned to the wall. 

Soon enough, he found himself drawing upon Patrick’s door, the laminated music notes taped on and around it a dead giveaway. He knocked twice before pulling it open, and geez, Susan had been nice to warn him. 

All around the room children sat in groups, sheet music laid out in front of them as they tooted away on plastic recorders. To say the sound was hell on Pete’s ears was an understatement; it actually sounded like a bunch of chickens being slaughtered. Those kids had _strong_ freaking lungs. 

In the back corner, Patrick sat at his desk, his attention fully focused on a girl who was playing in front of him. When his gaze happened to land on Pete, he mouthed _”Give me a couple minutes.”_

He nodded, and it wasn’t too soon after when the kids finally seemed to notice his presence at the doorway. The majority of them stopped what they were doing and jumped up, excitedly calling out his name as they rushed over to him.

“Hi Mr. Pete!” a shaggy-haired boy exclaimed, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

Pete smiled widely at him. “What’s up, Sam?” he said, lifting his palm to give him a high five.

“Mr. Pete!” a girl interrupted, shoving her recorder up to his eye level. “Lookit, I finally got my black belt!”

“That’s awesome, Molly!” he said, impressed. “You’re a heck of a lot better at playing recorder than I could ever be!”

“Mr. Pete, listen to me play Old McDonald!”

“Hey now!” Patrick suddenly spoke up, and Pete looked up to see he and the girl had finished their session together. “I know you’re excited to see him, kids, but give him some room to breathe! Go back to where you were sitting and continue practicing.”

A chorus of _“awwws”_ sounded from the group as they dispersed. Pete took the opportunity and made his way over to Patrick’s desk, setting the bag in his hand down and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey back.” Patrick glanced at his delivery, and his eyes lit up. “Sweet, did you get - ?”

“Yep, shrimp fried rice, egg drop soup, and a couple vegetable spring rolls.”

Patrick threw his arms around him, pulling him close. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I try.”

Silence. 

“Hey, uh...please tell me you have Advil stowed away in here somewhere,” Pete quipped.

“Music teacher 101, my friend.”

*

“Okay, the kids voted the other day and decided they wanted to do Puff the Magic Dragon,” Patrick explained as he sat down in one of the teeny-tiny student chairs, acoustic guitar perched in his lap. It was Friday, the day Patrick apparently set aside for sing-a-longs, and Pete had decided to stick around to check it out. “So - yeah. Usually I sing and they play along with me. Feel free to join in whenever you want.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pete replied. He gripped the bongo in his lap and smirked at the children sitting on the floor in front of them. Maracas shook and tambourines jangled as Patrick tuned his guitar, and then he was strumming the first note of the song, mouth opening to sing. 

“Puff the magic dragon,” he began, voice light as a feather, “lived by the sea, and frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honalee…”

Tapping out a slow beat on the bongos, Pete considered singing along with him, but he eventually decided against the idea. Patrick’s voice was too heavenly for him to taint with his horrible screech of a singing voice, though every once in a while he’d provide backing vocals (read: whisper-yell certain words), and it would make the kids giggle. Pete couldn’t deny the swell of pride in his chest at their approval, but he found himself focusing less and less on them and more and more on Patrick the longer the song went on. 

The way he would sway along to the music, his fingers gliding elegantly along the strings and his voice somehow managing to carry above the crescendo of instruments. The way he would catch certain kids’ eyes and smile widely at them while he sang. All of it absolutely enamored him. There wasn’t a single thing about him that Pete found less than perfect. He’d told Patrick plenty of times before that he had a knack for teaching kids, not to mention his voice and guitar skills were positively stellar, and this was living proof of all those things. 

Sometimes, he joked that they’d make a great two-man band: Patrick singing and playing the instruments and him providing his own shitty poetry for the lyrics. But alas, he knew how slim the odds of that ever happening were. 

Pete could tell the kids felt the same way about Patrick, could tell they did by the content looks on their faces and the enthusiasm they shook their instruments with as he sang and played and let his personality shine through the music. Not to mention the stories they’d tell him about Patrick whenever he visited: 

( _“Today Mr. Stumph told us he can play drums_ and _piano_ and _the trumpet too...I wanna be just like him when I’m a grown-up.”_

_“Today Mr. Stumph let us choose our own instruments to play and he said the triangle suits me!”_

_“Today Mr. Stumph - ”_ )

“A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys,” Patrick crooned, “painted wings and giant’s rings make way for other toys…”

Pete had zoned out for a bit, and of course when he’d come back to reality it was during the real tear-jerker of the song. He listened sorrowfully as Patrick sung about little Jackie Paper growing up and leaving Puff behind and Puff retreating back to his cave, not feeling brave anymore without his lifelong friend by his side. It might’ve just been because, well, it was fucking _sad_ , or maybe it was because Pete just couldn’t help but apply himself and Patrick to Puff and Jackie; whatever it was, he could feel tears collecting in his eyes, and he hastily swiped them away with his arm. 

“Are you crying?” one of the boys asked once they’d finished the song.

“What? Of course not.” Pete waved him off, turning to Patrick with a broad smile. “I’m just blown away by Mr. Stumph’s wicked musical skills...and your guys’ too, of course. Bravo, little dudes and dudettes!”

“You did great,” Patrick commented meekly after he’d set aside the guitar and directed the students back to their spots. He almost sounded...blown away, if Pete wasn’t mistaken. “Think you’d maybe wanna...stick around every Friday and do this? I mean, if you don’t have any plans...”

“Well…”

There was a roar from the students. 

“Yeah!” Sam exclaimed. “Do it, Mr. Pete!”

“Yeah, that was a lot of fun!” a curly-haired blonde named Charlotte said. 

“Pretty please with cherries and sprinkles on top?”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do it,” Pete gave in, chuckling as the kids cheered. He eyed Patrick, and the wide grin splitting his face was absolutely priceless. It took everything in him not to jump up and throw himself at him; he had to harshly remind himself that they were in the presence of twenty-something fourth-graders and were most certainly _not_ in their bedroom. 

He opted for a quick peck on the cheek instead.

*

“Mr. Stumph?”

Patrick paused reading aloud from _I Know a Shy Fellow who Swallowed a Cello_ and looked away from the page he was on, eyes flicking to the girl who had said his name. “Yes, Jane? Please raise your hand next time you have a question, okay?”

“Do you love Mr. Pete?”

Patrick froze, sure that his cheeks were turning red. The question had thrown him completely off-guard, and he wracked his brain for something, anything to say. “D-do I love him?” he stammered. “Well, of course I do.”

“Are you _in_ love with him?”

 _Oh God._ Patrick yanked at the collar of his sweater vest; it felt as if someone had twisted the thermostat up twenty degrees _and_ placed the sun directly over his head. He couldn’t lie to the kids; they’d seen him and Pete planting kisses on each other’s cheeks and hugging in ways that were more than friendly for months now, and he knew they’d call him out if he answered no. At the same time, though, he had to phrase his answer in the most kid-friendly way possible.

“Y-yes, I guess I am,” he said after about thirty seconds. “Him and I, well...we’ve felt that way about each other for a long time now.”

“Then why aren’t you married?” Jane asked, lips pursed. “My mommy told me that when two people are in love, one of them buys a ring for the other and they get married and then they have babies.”

Patrick’s face fell, and he could just _feel_ the hotness creeping into his cheeks. Oh, the innocence, the naivety, of children. He never thought this would be a topic he’d be discussing in his elementary school music class, with his _students_ , no less. But he wasn’t the type of teacher who turned down questions from his kids, no matter how absurd they happened to be. That was a dick move. So, he set down the book and steeled himself.

“Well,” he began, steepling his hands. He had to choose his words carefully. “You see, kids, sometimes things are complicated, and even if two people love each other very much, it’s not as simple as just saying ‘we want to get married’ and then doing it. Sometimes, there are things that hold you back, and you just have to deal with it.”

“So you guys can’t get married?” a boy, Jonathan, piped up, concern tinging his voice.

“No, we can’t.” At their distraught expressions, Patrick quickly said, “But that’s okay! Because no matter what, we both love each other very much. And not being married to one another can’t take that love away from us.”

Patrick finished the book, and after the kids had left and he was alone in the classroom, he let out a pent-up sigh. Walking over to the window, he placed one hand on his elbow and the other over his eyes.

_Come on, don’t. Not today, not right now._

The roar of the air conditioner muffled his sobs.

*

When Pete opened the door, he was greeted by an odd sight: the students sitting at their assigned spots and staring at Patrick as he flounced about at the front of the room, gathering papers and other items together. When he saw Pete, he sighed in relief and paced over to him, looking harried with his glasses slightly askew and his sweater half-tucked into his pants. 

“Thank God you’re here,” Patrick began, “I just got called down for an unexpected meeting.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the warning, Principal Friedman - and I couldn’t find anyone to watch the class. Would you mind doing it?”

“Oh,” Pete said, surprised. He’d just come to drop off Patrick’s lunch and leave, as usual. “Uhh...sure. But aren’t non-staff, like...not allowed to do that?”

“It shouldn’t be long,” he said, clutching the papers to his chest. “Twenty minutes tops. And if someone asks, just tell them I trust you.”

“Okay then.” Pete glanced at the kids, eyebrow raised. “Anything in particular you want me to do with them or….?”

Patrick shook his head, already halfway out the door. “All you have to do is watch them; they’re allowed to move around and talk, but no roughhousing or touching any of the instruments thanks so much love you I’llseeyousoonbye.”

And then he was out. 

Pete turned to the students, who were all staring at him expectantly with various looks of anticipation on their faces. He smiled.

“You guys ever heard of two dudes named James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich?”

*

Pete had nearly lost track of time, and it wasn’t until he saw a shape walking towards him out of the corner of his eye that he realized Patrick had returned from the meeting. 

“Pete,” he called over the din of electric guitars and pounding drums, _“what are you doing giving my children nightmares?”_

He paused the video he’d been playing on the projector - Metallica’s official music video for _Enter Sandman_ \- and turned to face Patrick, not a single ounce of guilt evident on his face. “Giving them nightmares?” he repeated. “Oh dear Patrick, I’ve simply been informing the students about one of the greatest heavy metal bands of all time! Ya know, _music._ This _is_ a music class, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but this - ” He gestured to the screen, “ - is not school appropriate. _Or_ kid appropriate. I’m surprised the district doesn’t have it blocked.”

Pete frowned. “Hey, I was listening to Metallica by the time I was these guys’ age! Besides, they’ve been enjoying it. Right, guys?”

A wave of head bobs and some excited “yeahs!” came from the cluster of kids sitting in front of the smartboard. Pete swiveled in his rolling chair to give Patrick a smug smile, when Sam, bless his heart, stood up and raised his hand.

“This music is awesome, Mr. Stumph!” he exclaimed. “And look what Mr. Pete taught us to do!”

He made a fist, then thrust his hand up, pinkie and index finger raised proudly as he thrashed his head forward and back. 

“Oh my God,” Patrick muttered under his breath.

Pete laughed.

*

On this particular day, Pete had just so happened to snag a bit of gossip between two ladies in the office while he was signing in that made his blood boil. 

_“So my cousin Brandy called off her and her fiance’s wedding after nearly half a year of planning because of a botched lip injection.”_

_“That’s terrible!”_

_“Yeah, Jason joked that if it took too long to fix he’d find another woman and marry her instead.”_

_“Wow, that’s so insensitive!”_

_“Right? Well, if he turns out to be a dud, it’ll be easy for her to dump him. She’s already been through two divorces. Helps when you don’t have kids.”_

Pete couldn’t help but grit his teeth as he walked to Patrick’s classroom, the conversation playing over and over again in his mind. If only people like them knew the pain of not being able to marry the love of their life, all because of something as trivial as their fucking gender. 

Some people seriously took what they had for granted. God, if Pete could, he’d marry Patrick right on the spot and never let him go. And certainly _never_ joke about dumping him for someone else as if he were a toy he could just throw in the trash when the appeal wore off. 

_Ugh._

* 

“Shhh, you’re gonna get us caught if you keep making noise!”

“Oh no, you wanna get caught, I can tell. Wow, Patrick, I didn’t realize you had such a naughty side!”

“Shut the hell up!”

Pete chuckled as he and Patrick shoved chocolate and mints and whatever else they could find in the teacher’s lounge into their pockets. A quick scan of the room beforehand had revealed it to be surprisingly empty, which the two took full advantage of when initially discovering it. Yeah, the fact that Pete was getting a rush out of ransacking a fucking _teacher’s lounge_ was lame _,_ but, well. They were two guys in their thirties. There wasn’t much mischief they could get into anymore without finding serious trouble with the law. 

He was halfway through feeding a bill into the vending machine when someone walked into the room. 

Pete only just thought to yank the visitor sticker off his shirt as the obvious teacher made a beeline for the fridge in the corner, pulling a container from its confines and setting it down on one of the tables. He tried searching for Patrick out of the corner of his eye, sure that he had gone just as rigid from fear, but it was fruitless. Staying as still as a statue, he prayed that the guy wouldn’t notice or say anything about his presence.

“Patrick,” the man acknowledged. He glanced in the direction of the vending machine, and his brow furrowed. “I’m...sorry? Are you a teacher here? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 _Shit._ There wasn’t anyone else he could’ve been talking to. 

“Oh? Me?” Pete turned to the guy, adjusting his usually slouched posture and discreetly shoving the crumpled-up sticker in his pocket. “Yeah, I am. I’m uh, new here, actually. Just started today. Name’s Pe - Roger. Roger Moore.”

Patrick made a choking sound into his cup of coffee.

“Roger Moore, eh? What do you teach?” the guy asked suspiciously. 

“I’m a….” Pete quickly wracked his brain for a subject. “...art teacher! I teach art, yeah.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize we had an opening in that department.” He scanned him up and down, and despite what he’d just said, he didn’t seem too convinced that this rough-looking guy in a faded _Slayer_ t-shirt and ripped jeans who’d just popped up today was a teacher. Pete cursed his taste in fashion. 

“Things can get really messy when you put kids and art together,” he blurted out of the blue, “that’s why I’m dressed like this.”

He hoped that would make the lie more believable. And the guy must have finally bought it, because he hummed thoughtfully and smiled. “Well nice to meet you, Roger,” he said, extending his hand. “Name’s Mike Smith. Hope you like it here.”

Pete blew out a relieved breath through his nose, nearly falling over. He managed to shake hands with Mike, though, and stood awkwardly for a few minutes as he microwaved his food and made himself a cup of coffee. 

“I wish I could stay, but I have a whole stack of papers screaming at me to grade them,” Mike said, giving both him and Patrick a knowing look - one that, unbeknownst to him, Pete couldn’t relate to. Gathering his things and heading to the door, he threw a “See you, Patrick” over his shoulder, then a “Nice to meet you, Roger” before disappearing completely. 

“You too,” Pete said at the same time Patrick said, “See you, Mike.” Neither of them dared to move until they completely stopped hearing footsteps, and then Patrick gasped, doubling over and clutching his chest. 

“That was so fucking close,” he murmured. His head whipped to Pete. “Roger Moore? Like the guy who played _James Bond?_ That’s the name you came up with?”

Pete huffed. “Hey, for being put on the spot like that, I thought that lie was pretty believable!”

“Yeah, I’ll admit the thing about the clothes was pretty good,” Patrick confessed. “Guess Mike forgot that there’s a dress code for teachers and it doesn’t exclude the art department...but whatever.”

Remembering what he’d initially been doing before he was interrupted, Pete punched a few numbers into the vending machine. “Yep, that’s me,” he said as he pulled his soda out and cracked it open. He took a large swig and raised his palms to the ceiling. “Roger Moore: elementary school art teacher by day, _Slayer_ roadie by night.”

“Haha. Did you forget that you have to be _good_ at art to be an art teacher?” Patrick looked around, then motioned to the door. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before anyone else decides to drop in. I don’t think I could handle another person seeing you here.”

Pete followed him out of the room, smirking. Hey, he’d spiced up his ordinarily mundane day. He couldn’t possibly be blamed for that. 

*

“Miranda, you stand there and - good. Carter, hold your sign up a little higher, okay bud? Sam, you’re at the beginning. Hurry up and get into your positions, guys, before he comes back!”

Herding a bunch of giddy fourth-graders together proved to be no easy task, and the fact that today was the last day before spring break didn’t make it easier. Nevertheless, Pete appreciated the enthusiasm they had for aiding him in his little plan. Hushed whispers and excited murmurs filled his ears, but he could hardly hear them over the rapid beating of his heart. 

Faintly, he wondered if the school nurse would treat a passed-out stranger. He hoped with his entire heart that this would work. 

A couple minutes later, the _thump-thump-thump_ of shoes approaching the classroom could be heard in the hallway. 

The class went dead silent as Patrick popped in the doorway, juggling a large box in his hands. With a huff, he placed it on the table next to him before turning to face Pete and the students. At their odd quietness and formation along the back of the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, boys and girls? What are you...?” 

He paused, his gaze falling to the signs in the students’ hands. His eyes slid slowly from the left side to the right, forehead creasing as he took in what they spelled out. They immediately flicked up to Pete afterward, wide and full of disbelief. 

“Pete?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

From his spot, Sam gave him a thumbs up. A few of the girls waved him forward. 

Legs shaking and heart racing, Pete stepped forward, pulling a little black box from his pocket. He kneeled in front of Patrick, who was struggling to support himself on a tiny student desk. 

“Will you, Patrick Martin Stumph,” he began, opening the box to reveal a shiny silver ring, “do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Patrick gasped, hands flying to his mouth as if he couldn’t believe what Pete had just asked him. There were a few seconds of silence, and then he shook his head vigorously. 

“Yes, yes, Pete, I will,” he said, flinging himself at him. “Of freaking course I will.” There were tears in his eyes, and Pete could feel them brimming in his own too. 

Thirteen years. 

_Thirteen fucking years._

Behind them the kids cheered, and those who hadn’t been tasked to hold a sign began tooting recorder renditions of _The Wedding March_ (something Pete may or may not have found an easy tutorial for online and tasked the more advanced recorder players in the class to learn). 

Patrick pulled back, and Pete swore he’d never been happier in his life to slide a ring onto someone’s finger. Right after he’d admired it, Patrick gripped his face and kissed him passionately - not too passionately to be inappropriate for their audience of nine-year olds, but enough for Pete’s heart to feel like it was soaring.

*

“What was it like?”

“I’ll tell you what it was like,” Pete said, dramatically throwing out his arms as he addressed the curious group of girls in front of him. “Patrick - er, Mr. Stumph and I arrived in a horse-drawn carriage, and we had every kind of food you could imagine there! We even had a chocolate fountain! Then the president of the United States showed up and - ”

“Hey, don’t lie to them like that,” Patrick said crossly as he plucked confetti from the floor - his co-workers’ way of congratulating him, along with dozens of multi-colored pastel balloons that littered the ceiling. “Okay, there _was_ a chocolate fountain - Mr. Pete’s mother insisted - but other than that, we got married in a courthouse. That’s really it.”

“He looked so beautiful in his tux,” Pete whispered in the girls’ direction, causing them to giggle. “Like a literal angel.”

Patrick hissed, “They don’t need to know that!”

“Mr. Stumph!” one of the girls exclaimed. “Are we still calling you Mr. Stumph or are you going by Mr. Pete’s last name now?”

“Actually,” Patrick said as he emptied the trash can, “we decided to hyphenate our last names, which just means we combined them. I’m technically Mr. Stumph-Wentz now, but you can still call me Mr. Stumph if that confuses you.”

 _“Wait a second.”_ The lot of them turned to see Sam staring at Pete, a serious look on his face. _“Your last name isn’t Pete?_ This whole time I thought it was!” He huffed angrily. “What are all these _lies_? _”_

Pete couldn’t help it, bursting into a fit of laughter so hard he nearly fell over in his chair. Meanwhile, Patrick just shook his head, declining to comment. 

Moments like these were the kind Pete never wanted to forget. And now, he had some pretty memorable ones to stow them alongside of. Inside his husband’s classroom, surrounded by a ton of awesome kids who loved the heck out of them both, he’d never felt more content with his life. He couldn’t wait for what the future held. 


End file.
